


Half Past Three On A Tuesday Morning

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1545026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was asked to write a DA fic in the style of one of my Les Mis canon era fics - so here, some Zevran/Fenris. Fenris watching Zevran sleep, and wondering about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Past Three On A Tuesday Morning

Outside the window the night is unilluminated, but for one dim street-light, a flickering lantern, that leaves yellow soaking into the furniture of the bedroom. Fenris sits up on the side of the mattress, feet touching to the floor below.

He is still, because there is no reason for him to move.

He glances back, regarding the man that had laid beside him in the night previous, and his lips part despite himself; Fenris’ glance becomes a self-indulgent stare.

Zevran is sleeping, the right side of his face pressed comfortably to his pillow, and his expression is serene, peaceful. The ink on his face is barely visible with no proper light to see it by; Fenris pretends he does not envy the other elf that luxury. His lips are together, but not pressed so, and for once, that terrible mouth is quiet.

Fenris’ eyes roam lower, over the other’s shoulders where the ink continues, accentuating his neck, his shoulders, his spine; “I was eleven, yes.” Zevran had said when Fenris had asked, looking up and regarding the other elf with interest. “Was intended to make me more attractive, no? They put emphasis on what features I have that are handsome, and draw attention from those that are not.”

They do look handsome, but Fenris cannot find them too exciting when he knows that they hurt. He wonders if Zevran feels the same of his.

About Zevran’s waist and thighs are tangled sheets, his legs apart and one bent. His hair is untied, thick and left loose on the pillow, and Fenris’ eyes go back to it now. He looks good.

Fenris does not believe he has ever seen Zevran where the other elf does not look good.

The other man’s eyes open, slowly, and he regards Fenris for a few moments in the most languid of fashions. “You are leaving?” comes his question.

"No." Fenris answers, and he remains where he sits. "I am cooling off."

"Too hot for you, am I?" Zevran asks, and he looks tired; he does not sleep enough, Fenris finds, too concerned with the many that are chasing him. Fenris wonders how many more similarities they will find between their two souls before the both of them are dead.

"Perhaps. Sleep." Zevran trusts him, and Fenris knows the other man trusts him, because he closes his eyes and does so agreeably. Fenris smiles despite himself, lips quirking a little at their sides. 

Fenris, very slowly, crawls forwards, lying beside the other man again. Very cautiously, very careful, he puts his hand forwards, so that it lies touching the other man’s. They do not hold hands - neither of them can do this, for different reasons - but their hands touch.

Zevran’s body relaxes further, and Fenris closes his eyes.

The dim light washes over both of them, and now they sleep together.


End file.
